


Atrophy

by vinniebatman



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Self-Loathing, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinniebatman/pseuds/vinniebatman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard had considered himself a good, kind man, despite his unwillingness to coddle fools. He'd given everything to his wife, leaving him hollow, as though she'd carved out those kinder parts of him and thrown them away.  He was weak; he always said each time was the last.  But he couldn't say no to Chekov.</p><p>And Chekov has no intention of leaving him alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** McCoy/Chekov, "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." for [](http://strickens-girl.livejournal.com/profile)[**strickens_girl**](http://strickens-girl.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Beta:** [](http://users.livejournal.com/_beetle_/profile)[](http://users.livejournal.com/_beetle_/)**_beetle_**  
>  **Disclaimer:** I so totally own this movie. Bow Down! *Doctor's Note: Patient exhibits delusions of grandeur and any claims of ownership are pure fantasy. No harm is meant. Seriously, it's better than her throwing rocks at people.*  
>  **Real Disclaimer:** I make no money from this work, and claim no ownership over the to any of the copyrighted material of "Star Trek" in any of its incarnations. This work belongs to its owners.

Sonic showers weren't Leonard's favorite way to get clean. Unlike water, sonics lacked that cathartic quality that could wash awaymore than just sweat, come, and lube. No matter how well the sonics cleaned him, it wasn't enough to wash away his guilt.

Leonard had considered himself a good, kind man, despite his unwillingness to coddle fools. He'd given everything to his wife, leaving him hollow, as though she'd carved out those kinder parts of him and thrown them away.

He was fucking weak; that was the crux of the matter.  He always said each fuck was the last.  But something always happened; maybe the ex would block his communications, or Joanna'd cry at the end of a vid, or he'd loose a patient ... something would tear at him until emptiness filled him, withering the remenants of his soul and urging him to forget his only-one-glass-of-bourbon rule and drink straight from the bottle.

Somehow, that little Russian bastard always knew.

It was always the same: Chekov would show up, coy smile on his lips as he barged in, welcoming Leonard's biting kisses.  Leonard was never sweet or gentle; instead shoving and moving Chekov like a fuck-toy.  Chekov always wound up on his knees, pretty lips stretched around Leonard's cock, sucking until Leonard had to grab those soft curls and yank that mouth away.

Then he'd have Chekov stripped and on his hands and knees, keening and rocking back onto Leonard's fingers (the only time he was remotely gentle).  He always watched as two fingers became three, stretching until Chekov was begging.  Leonard would push inside, and surrounded by tight, perfect heat, he'd give up any pretense of civility.  Everything fell away leaving only heat and flesh and lust and pleasure.  Leonard would snap his hips, driving faster and harder, ignoring Chekov's moans as the younger man jerked himself off.

After they came, Chekov would look at him, eyes soft and open, pleading for more.  And Leonard would force himself off the bed, away from a warm body that just _fit_.  Leonard never knew what to say, afraid of what those eyes were asking. Those eyes dimmed a bit more each time, fading when Leonard offered the only words he had left: "Better get going, kid."

And then Leonard would shower, cursing and hating  himself for using Chekov like a god damned whore, a tool to keep himself togther. Sometimes he hated Chekov for letting it happen. Chekov wasn't a kid; he was an adult, an officer, old enough to be responsile for his own actions.

He clenched his jaw and pressed his forehead against the wall; he was as clean as he'd get.  This was the last time; it wouldn't happen again.  Leonard stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel  around his waist more out of habit than need, before heading into his bedroom.

He stopped short; Chekov was still on the bed, limbs splayed, ass tilted.  He hadn't even moved out of the wet spot.  Leonard moved closer to the pillow where Chekov's head lay.  He crouched, studying his sleeping face.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck._   His eyes were closed, the skin around them dark with exhaustion.  Fuck.

Leonard should have sent him back to his own quarters; Chekov had needed sleep, not to be used as a goddamned sex-toy.  But Leonard'd been in such a rush that he'd barely looked at Chekov.  It'd been a shit week; one crew member dead on the planet, one dead in the OR.

Something in his chest twinged; he reached out and gently ran his fingers through those curls.  Leonard sighed and shook his head.

"Doctor?"  Chekov opened his eyes, his expression hazy and drugged with sleep.  He frowned and studied Leonard, then flushed at the sight of his bare chest.  "Oh, I am sorry; I did not mean to fall asleep."

Chekov moved to get up.

"Go back to sleep, kid; you won't make it to your quarters before you pass out."

Chekov smiled, sleepy and content.  "Okay."

He buried his face in the pillow, wriggling into a more comfortable position.  Leonard stood and tossed his towel away before climbing into bed.  He covered them with the blankets and shut off the lights.

He didn't say anything when Chekov moved closer.


	2. Healing

Leonard stretched out on the bed, his room dark. He was just so _tired_.

It had been a long two days following an explosion in engineering. No one had died, but he'd had no more than a cat nap in the past thirty-six hours. As he started to fall asleep, his door chimed. Fuck. Leonard had already ordered Jim to bed two hours ago, so the only other person it could be was Chekov. He didn't move, holding his breath as though somehow he could hide his presence. The door chimed again. Sighing, he crawled out of bed and went to the door.

He'd been trying so hard to wean himself off of Chekov, to stop his weakness before it consumed and ruined the younger man. But he couldn't help it. Whenever Chekov appeared, be it in his quarters for a fuck, or at his table in the mess for company, Leonard was simply too grateful for the affection to say no. The kid wanted more from him, something Leonard no longer had the capability to give. Leonard punched the control panel and opened the door. Chekov stood there, dressed in sleep pants and a tee shirt, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion. "I couldn't sleep," he said. "I just wanted—I sleep better here. We can have sex, if you want," he offered quietly.

Leonard’s chest ached as he stepped back and nodded his head. Chekov reached out, his fingers tangling with Leonard’s as the door closed.

"Thank you," Chekov whispered.

The soft, reverent tone made Leonard grateful of the dark. It hid the sweet, soft look Chekov always had in his eyes. The look that made Leonard wish he could be whatever the younger man thought he was. But instead of saying anything, he simply led Chekov through the darkened quarters to his bed. Leonard pulled back the covers and pushed him into the bed.

"Just to go sleep, kid." He could feel the bed move beside him as Chekov got comfortable. Then Chekov moved closer, curling up so closely that Leonard could feel his body heat. His chest twinged again as he fought the urge to curl up around the younger man.

"We should stop this," he whispered into the dark. "You should stop coming here."

Beside him, he could hear Chekov's breath stutter. "I know you don't want me, not really. But sometimes, when things are bad, I just, I need you. Seeing you makes things better, even if it’s just sex for you."

Leonard's chest just _ached_. Chekov was . . . too good for him; the kid deserved someone so much better.

Leonard swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, as though trying to stop words from escaping. "Find someone else, Pavel. Someone good for you, someone who deserves you. I just . . . I don't have anything to offer you, kid."

"Lights, fifty percent," Chekov ordered, shifting a bit as the lights came up, till he lay on his side, facing Leonard. Carefully, he reached out with one hand, letting it rest on Leonard's cheek. He looked Leonard in the eyes as he spoke. "No."

Christ, it felt like he was drowning and pulling the kid with him. "Please. I'm too weak to turn you away."

There was a sudden, terrible sadness in Chekov's eyes as the younger man frowned. "Why do you think I come here?"

Leonard chuckled bitterly. "I honestly don't know, Pavel. You're young, brilliant, gorgeous . . . you could have anyone on this ship."

That terrible sadness briefly became a too-bright shine that Chekov was quick to blink away. "I come because I love you," he said simply, quietly.

Leonard was in shock. He wanted to tell the kid he was wrong, that it was just a crush. But the kid just kept talking, misery etching deeper into his features.

"I know you don't feel that way about me, but there are these little moments when you smile at me, when I think . . . maybe you could love me, too. Someday?"

“Jesus.” Leonard shook his head, pulling away from that soft, warm touch. "I'm broken, kid. I don't think I can love anyone," he said with something softer, and infinitely more regretful than his usual gruff tone.

Chekov's eyes went dim while at the same time that too-bright shine came back. Leonard wanted to scream. Instead, he just kept being honest. It was the only way he knew how to be—especially with someone who deserved nothing less. "Just walk away, Pavel. You deserve to be happy."

Chekov smiled sadly, almost bitterly. And dear lord, that was just devastating … to see an expression that so keenly mirrored Leonard’s own heart of this bright, young man. "I can't walk away because when you smile, when you touch me? It makes me so happy, Leonard. You make me happy."

The doctor could only swallow. This was the way he'd felt about his wife, once upon a marriage: that desperate desire for the smallest crumb of affection. He remembered how much it had hurt as those moments had become farther and farther apart, until they disappeared altogether. It made his chest, his _heart_ ached at the thought he was doing the same to Chekov.

Because he liked seeing the kid smile—liked to hear his laugh.

He wouldn't do the same to Chekov. He couldn’t.

"Guess I don't have a choice then," Leonard said, with a return of his customary gruffness. The bright, but false smile on Chekov's face drooped . . . became a tight, anxious grimace that awaited the worst. "I'm too fucking weak to send you away, Pavel. So I'm here until you want to stop, until you . . . give up."

“Never.” The sudden, brilliant smile on Chekov's face—bracketed as it was by hastily wiped away tear-tracks—made Leonard wonder if maybe things would be okay, after all. Not that they ever were, not _really_ , but—

Then Chekov was kissing him: a soft, sweet kiss that tasted of toothpaste and exhaustion, his cool, gentle, capable hands coming up to cup Leonard’s face. Leonard returned it almost tentatively. After months of screwing around, this kiss was more intimate than anything they’d ever done. It was wholly terrifying, and it left Leonard shaking

Then Chekov broke the kiss tenderly, then dropped several smaller ones, each sweeter and more yearning than the last.

“Good night, Leonard,” he breathed on Leonard’s lips, his thumbs caressing Leonard’s cheeks.

“G’night,” Leonard breathed back, and Chekov—Pavel—smiled as he rolled onto his other side and cuddled back against Leonard. When Leonard spooned up close and woodenly draped his arm over Pavel, Pavel chuckled and pulled Leonard’s arm tighter around him, arranging it to his satisfaction with a yawn.

“Lights out,” Leonard said.

As the room slowly dimmed to complete darkness, he buried his face in soft, sweet-smelling curls, he squeezed Pavel close and tight. It wasn’t long before the kid’s breathing deepened, and evened out into almost-snores. His thin body was warm and trusting in Leonard’s arms.

“I don’t deserve you,” Leonard whispered, pressing his lips to the shell of Pavel’s ear with the same reverence he’d accord the Holy Grail. “I don’t deserve this and I don’t deserve you. But I’ll try; I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t regret it.”

That promise made, Leonard closed his eyes and relaxed. He was asleep in far less time than he would have expected. There were no dreams.


End file.
